scarlet stained hands
by Frogster
Summary: "Jane, I'm beginning to think that this is what he wanted all along. He wanted to bring you down to his level, to make your hands just as stained scarlet as his." Tag to 3x23/24 "Strawberries and Cream." Please read and review!


**So this is my take on the unseen events following 3x23/24 "Strawberries and Cream". I'm glad I got this posted before I return to school on Monday. I'm going to be so busy...not that I wasn't this summer, but college work and essays are very different from two summer jobs!**

**If you haven't seen them already, check out the stills from the season 4 premiere of the Mentalist on CBS' website! The still of Lisbon and Jane at the interrogation table is what inspired me to finish this oneshot. It's very intriguing. Can't wait for the premiere, although I'm a little cautious as to what this season will hold.**

**Thanks to the wonderful Iloveplotbunnies for betaing. ^_^  
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**Anyway, hope you enjoy! Please read and review!**

**Rating: T**

**Spoilers: 3x23 and 3x24 "Strawberries and Cream"  
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**scarlet stained hands**_  
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_Clack, clack, clack._

Patrick Jane listened as the sound of Teresa Lisbon's heels clacking on the tile grew closer, sounding his doom. He thought over the events of the past two days—meeting Hightower; uncovering the CBI mole, who had turned out to be Grace's fiancé, Craig O'Laughlin; and discovering that the man known only as Red John, the merciless serial killer who brutally murdered innocent people, including his wife and child, was only two tables away, unassumingly reading a paper. It was a sight that shook him to his very core. The moment he had begun to speak, Jane's senses heightened and narrowed, focusing on the man who had uprooted him so completely. When Red John had mentioned the scents of his wife and child, the innocent, delicious smell of strawberries and cream, Jane had lost it. The callous, cold demeanor of Red John seemed to infect Jane as well, and all he wanted to do was bury bullets in his archenemy's body.

So that's what he had done.

And now, he was sitting in CBI Interrogation Room 2, waiting on the woman who would direct him to his "fate," if there was such a thing. Somehow waiting on the Serious Crimes Unit senior agent was more nerve-wracking than shooting a serial killer.

And then the door opened, and Teresa Lisbon walked in. He knew from the very moment she entered that this interrogation was going to be an emotional roller-coaster, judging by the overly tense way she held her frame, and her no-nonsense gestures and actions. Lisbon was all business now, but Jane didn't think it would be long until Lisbon the agent was replaced by Teresa the friend.

Because that's what she was, if he wanted to be honest. His closest friend, the woman whose good faith and friendship and yes, even affection, he didn't deserve.

Said woman began the interrogation by asking a loaded question. "Jane. What did you do?" Her voice was taut and thin, barely checking her anger. By now, she had to have known what he'd done, but by-the-book Lisbon needed to ask anyway. Perhaps she also wanted to hear his side of the story, hoping for an event or a phrase that could potentially lead to exoneration or a commuted sentence. Faithful Lisbon, always believing that there was a spark of good in him.

He answered, using the same clipped tone she had: "I killed Red John." Maintaining a level of detachment would be better for both of them—for all of them.

She didn't look surprised at his admission, just strained. A worry knot was starting to form on her forehead, and he wondered how long ago they'd told her of his deed—she'd apparently had time to agonize over every detail the unit working the case could provide. The Serious Crimes Unit was denied the case, of course, given Jane's history with them, but apparently Lisbon had pulled a few strings and had demanded an opportunity to speak with Jane.

Lisbon's face didn't betray any sign of her anger at Jane, but reflected the features of a calm, cool interrogator doing her job. "You admit to killing the man known as Red John, whose real name has been discovered to be Reid Jensen?"

"Yes."

Lisbon bit her lip, looking down at the table to compose herself. "How long had you been planning this?" she asked, referring to the method of killing, not the actual murder itself—she hadn't even known that Jane had a gun.

Jane clasped his hands. "Now, Lisbon, I know you know the answer to that," he said, injecting the interrogation with their playful banter from before. It didn't work; she just stared at him. He always had a knack for saying the wrong things at the wrong time. He went on: "You know I've been planning to kill Red John since I found my wife and child brutally murdered. You also knew that I would never rest, never be satisfied, until I had my vengeance. The past ten years of my life have been dedicated to hunting this man. Do you think I could just change in the blink of an eye?" The last sentence; referred to her emerging view that he was slowly changing, rethinking his strategy, weighing his options. But it was too late. The writing was already on the wall, and he himself hung in the balance.

Lisbon looked tired. Her professional façade was starting to waver and thin in places. "There was another way, Jane. There's always another way," she whispered, pleading, almost if she wanted him to tell her that it was all a bad dream that the last forty-eight hours hadn't happened.

As always, Jane marveled at her strong faith in the justice system. He believed that if the justice system was made up entirely of people like Teresa Lisbon, things might be accomplished on the right side of the law, but the fact always remained that malleable and tricky people populated California's justice system.

"Not this time, Lisbon. Not this time. He had a gun pointed at me. Check the security cameras. All angles. You'll see." He shuddered at the thought of what might have happened if Lisbon herself, or any of the rest of her team, had been on the other end of that gun barrel instead of him. He felt he deserved such an ending, to a degree, but the Serious Crimes Unit didn't. Their only crime was befriending him in the first place, and welcoming him into their family.

As a result of all these conflicted emotions; Jane was confused, and at times numb. He outwardly put on a show that hinted that his actions were the result of shock, but he inwardly felt that his state of numbness was that of unbelief and a sense of meaninglessness now that the serial killer was gone. As he'd told Lisbon, he had spent the better part of ten years chasing Red John, and the desire to off the serial killer had nearly engulfed him. He didn't see what else life held in store for him after the killer's demise; truthfully, he had never allowed himself to think that far ahead. He had always figured that he would be dead as well, so what was the use? It wasn't really that he didn't know what life after Red John would be like; it was that he didn't want to admit the possibilities. Especially, those related to Teresa Lisbon and him continuing on at the CBI. He didn't want to saddle these good people with someone like him for the rest of their (and his) working careers.

Jane broke from his reverie when he realized that Lisbon was trying to say something. She'd lifted her head and looked at him, the last pieces of her façade slipping away. He saw the pain in her eyes—her eyes always told the real story—and how the weight of the world and the universe seemed to be resting on her shoulders. She began talking in a soft tone that belied how exhausted she was, though exhausted because of what, he wasn't sure.

"Jane, I'm beginning to think that this is what he wanted all along. He wanted you to shoot him. He was needling you, teasing you. He was dangling a carrot in front of your nose and you bit into it, just as he knew you would. He wanted to ruin your life completely. He wanted to bring you down to his level, make your hands just as stained scarlet as his. All that so he could look up from the fires of hell and laugh at what you've done to yourself.

"Don't think this affects only you. It doesn't. That's the thing with you both—you both had blinders on, when it came to each other. All either of you could see was the other; some kind of sick, pointed focus. You were both so fixated on the other that you forgot those of us around you. You forgot about the team, Jane. Cho. Rigsby. Van Pelt. Me." Her voice broke on the last word. "You forgot m- us all. You didn't think of the emotional consequences, how it would tear us all up inside. You might as well have shot us, Jane. We believed in you, saw the potential in you. We wanted to help you, to draw out the good qualities in you. We knew you were a better man than this, better than an ex-conjurer and teller of lies with a thirst for revenge."

"Lisbon," he answered, eerily calm and patient, as if he were explaining something to a small child. _Don't think about Charlotte._ "I did think about the team. I…" He broke off, trying to sort out his confused feelings. Simultaneously, he hadn't wanted the team to get involved. He hadn't wanted them to get hurt, not because of him. However, a small part of him wished that they had followed him back to the mall, wished that they had surreptitiously surrounded the place, and wished that they had been the ones to shoot Red John. That was the second-best case scenario—Red John would still be dead, even if not at his hands, like he'd always thought would happen.

He looked at his hands. Lisbon had called them scarlet stained, as if she could see the blood gleaming crimson on his hands. That thought left him a bit uneasy. He was no Lady Macbeth, to be sure, but he still felt the tiniest twinge of guilt for what he'd done. Not so much for killing Red John—the man deserved to be sent to Dante's innermost circle of hell—but for letting Lisbon and the team down, for dashing the hopes of his friends, the closest thing he'd had to family in a long time. He knew that Lisbon thought she could change him, and in some ways, she had. He was certainly far from the heavy darkness he'd inhabited while in psychiatric care, and much of that was due to Lisbon's steady friendship. But things had changed. He'd switched sides of the table, and he didn't know if things could go back to the way they were before. He was surprised at how much he wanted them to.

But in the long run, things would probably be better if he didn't stay with them. Even though Red John was dead now, other things from his past could come back to haunt him. Danny could always show up again, or some of his carney friends could pop out suddenly. Sophie Miller could even make an appearance. Besides, he was to blame for most of the CBI's recurring problems—he had a whole file cabinet dedicated to his many and frequent transgressions and altercations, and he was pretty sure that a few people—including Lisbon—had decided to name their recurring migraines Jane. He might close cases, but the CBI would run a lot more smoothly, he thought, if he wasn't around to bungle things. Especially, for Lisbon. He decided to play this card, possibly his last. Aces and eights, a dead man's hand, for a man accustomed to playing the part of a joker but really; a knave at heart.

"Don't you see, Lisbon? You'd be better off without me here. Don't even try to say that I close cases; we both know that's mostly a veneer when it really counts. The bottom line is, I make things worse overall. Your team—the whole bureau, really—would get more done without me here than you ever could if I still skulked around on the couch every day. You all are better off without me, in every way."

Lisbon just looked at him, trying to process his words. He could tell she saw a relative truth there, but didn't want to believe it, couldn't imagine it to be true. She shook her head. She was Teresa Lisbon—she would always believe there was a good side to most people, always a redeeming quality to be drawn out. She was Teresa Lisbon—she would always try to save him.

"But you're better off with us, Jane," she began quietly. She left the rest of what she would have said hanging in the air, settling down on him like a steady rain. _When you're with us, you're closer to being whole. You begin to think you have something to live for again. You have a family again, people who care about you and will strive to do what's best for you, even if you don't agree. But you won't let yourself fully give in to this kind of assurance, because you think it will be harder than living with no assurance at all. You're afraid to live because you know that really living hurts at times, and being numb, to you, is more palatable than having any feelings at all._

He wished he could believe it. He wanted to latch onto her words and cling to them like a life preserver, to see the night beacon she was casting for him to lead him back. But he couldn't. He wasn't strong enough, not yet.

"You knew it would always end this way, someday, Lisbon," he said, feeling as if he had deflated. "You knew that this"—he gestured around at the cold, unfeeling walls of the interrogation room—"would most likely be the end."

She stood up, ready to leave, looking like a world-weary traveler—a pilgrim in progress. "I knew that this could happen, yes," she said, whisper-soft, "but I never thought it would come this soon." She walked out, heels clicking, resounding with the utter silence of the room. She closed the door, which rang with a final symphonic note, leaving Jane alone with the silence.

"I didn't think so either, Lisbon," he whispered in tones as soft as hers had been, knowing they'd be detected on the other side of the wall. "I didn't think so either."

**Hope you enjoyed! Please read and review!**


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